


Fighting Words

by Mishka10



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Being a Feral Bastard, M/M, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:09:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23907463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mishka10/pseuds/Mishka10
Summary: Jaskier gets into a bar fight, he was defending Geralt's honour, dammit.Geralt's (initially) neither impressed or amused by the bards decision to risk life and limb defending him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 401





	Fighting Words

There was blood on his knuckles. He watched it soak off, slowly diffusing into the bowl of water, tinging it a dirty red. He flexed the hand, wanting to disturb the swirling red tendrils, promptly wincing at the sharp jolt of pain running up his arm the moment had caused. Hardly his first stupid decision of the evening.

“You’re supposed to be cleaning the hand, not just staring at it.”

Jaskier’s flicked over to the Witcher, stood, arms folded across the room, frown tattooed across his brows as he watched Jaskier waste time playing with the water meant to clean him.

“I am…” He trailed off, there was no point turning this into another unnecessary fight. Swallowing down the pain Jaskier set to work scrubbing off as much of the blood as he could. It felt almost futile a task, the open cuts on his knuckles just sluggishly continuing to bleed when he removed his hand. At least he will have gotten rid of the blood that wasn’t his. The fucking bastard. His mind snapped back, remembering the crack of fist meeting flesh, the crunch of broken cartilage -

The sharp pain of someone _touching_ his hand snapping him out of the trance. Jaskier yanking the hand against his chest, cradling it. He felt tears, hot in the corners of his eyes, threatening to fall. Fuck. Geralt merely grunted in response, reaching gently for the hand again. Jaskier batted him away weakly, keeping the hand firmly guarded against him.

Geralt sighed, “We need to wrap it Jaskier.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s broken.”

Jaskier sucked in a breath. It was broken, he knew that, still, something about hearing Geralt actually say it made it so much more real. As carefully as he could he unravelled, letting Geralt take hold of the hand. Jaskier hissed at initial contact, uncommittedly attempting to tug it back, but this time Geralt had grasped his wrist, holding him in place. He grunted irritably, and got started on cleaning each of the cuts, forcefully scrubbing out the grime Jaskier had missed. The bard swore quietly, trying, but failing, to remain composed as the Witcher tended to his wounds.

Geralt sighed again, letting go of Jaskier to grab the bandages he had on hand. “It may need a splint.” He shook his head in annoyance, looking at the bard. “It was stupid.”

Jaskier looked away, avoiding Geralt’s gaze, “I don’t regret it.”

“You will. Tomorrow, or next week. When it still hurts, and you can’t play that damned instrument of yours.”

Jaskier let out a surprised laugh, “is that what you think? That once I realise the consequences of my actions, I’ll, what, regret defending you?”

“Dammit Jaskier you shouldn’t have done anything in the first place.” Geralt growled, tugging slightly harder than intended on the bandages he was wrapping around the bard’s hand. “I don’t need anyone protecting me, me or my honour.”

Jaskier winced at the pressure on his hand, bones protesting as they where pushed back into place. “Maybe…maybe sometimes it is less about what you need and more about what you deserve.”

Geralt snorted, “What I deserve is to have travel companions smart enough not to start bar fights over petty name calling.”

“Geralt…”

“It was stupid, you shouldn’t have done anything”

“Oh, so you would have me just- sit idly by as that man- that self-important pompous asshole struts around making a- a- mockery of you- of us both! Tarnishing the very reputations, I have worked so hard to maintain, is that it Geralt?!” Jaskier spat the final words out, feeling the heat of rage restoking itself within him. He tugged his now bandaged hand free from the Witcher’s grasp and set to angrily pacing the room.

Geralt sighed, again. “You can’t go punching every villager we meet who takes a disliking to us Jaskier.”

“Oh hhoh you’re just saying that because you didn’t hear what he said, the rat nosed bastard! He deserved exactly what he got, thinking he can just go around calling you a- a- a—”

“A monster?” Geralt calmly finished for him.

“Yes! You- oh.” Jaskier deflated slightly, realising Geralt evidently was already aware of exactly what had transpired earlier. “Ah, you heard that then.”

“Yes Jaskier.”

“And you’re not- you don’t mind?”

“It’s fine, Jaskier, it doesn’t matter.”

“It- it doesn’t matter?” Jaskier spluttered, hands flailing as he searched for a suitable response. He considered simply throwing something at the Witcher, beat some sense into him.

Geralt shrugged. “I’ve long made peace with the name, I don’t care, and you shouldn’t either.”

“But _I_ do.”

“Why?”

“Because- because you’re not one!”

Geralt fell silent, “I’m… not a man-“

Jaskier lobbed the nearest object at him, Geralt grunting in surprise as the thick book slammed directly into his face “Jaskier-“

“You’re not a monster!”

Geralt held up his hands, hoping to in some way placate the bard, “Jaskier-“

“You’re not- I – can’t stand them thinking it, let alone- You! about yourself!”

“Dammit Jaskier, _calm down_.”

Jaskier paused, staring at the Witcher in clear unhidden rage. He could feel his hand throbbing in pain, waving it around so soon after breaking it should probably be added to the list of stupid things he’d done that night. “I can’t just- you’re not a monster Geralt.”

Geralt rubbed his temples, this was decidedly not how he had imagined the evening unfolding. “Alright.”

“Al-alright?!”

“I know… I know I’m not a monster in the way that they mean the word, and that is enough for me.” He moved, slowly, closing the distance between him and Jaskier in the hopes of coaxing the dammed bard to sit down. Stop damaging the already broken hand he had just reset.

Jaskier spluttered at him, eyes flicking away to once again the Witcher’s gaze. “that’s not- you shouldn’t have to deal with being called- Geralt you’re not a monster.”

Geralt placed a hand on the bard’s shoulder, to shift him over, towards the bed. “It’s okay, Jaskier, really.”

“It’s not-“

“it is.” They where so close together now, foreheads almost brushing, Geralt wanted to take a hand, curl it under Jaskier’s chin, raise his head. He wanted to thank him, for being so… ridiculously fierce and… stupid. Thank him for caring, when so many others didn’t. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. take the bard’s trust, friendship, loyalty, and taint it with his feelings.

Jaskier finally looked up at him, staring back. For a second Geralt worried that he somehow knew what the Witcher had been thinking, knew what Geralt had been feeling. Instead Jaskier just sighed, shook his head at the entire situation, “it’s not fair Geralt, you- you deserve better.”

Geralt chuckled, humourlessly, “it doesn’t matter what I deserve-“

“It should.” Geralt almost gasped at the statement, as clear and concise as it was. There was no question in the bard’s voice, to him this was a definite fact.

He’s not sure who moved first, perhaps they moved at the same time, both leaning in, covering the small gap between them, lips meeting. A chaste peck quickly turning into more as they pressed their mouths together, Geralt risking a nip at the bard’s lips, reaching out, grabbing him by the hips and yanking him against Geralt and-

“OH FUCK!” Jaskier stumbled back, clutching his broken hand, the jostling too much for it.

Geralt let out a dry chuckle, watching the bard jump around in pain, “here, Jaskier, let me see.”

Jaskier held out the offending arm, letting Geralt tug the bandages back into place, wincing at each touch. He watched the Witcher, nervously, “I- Geralt-“

Geralt looked up from his task, pausing in it to rest a hand against Jaskier’s cheek and pull him in for a single, simple kiss, hoping the action would answer any and all of the bard’s current questions. Judging from Jaskier’s smile, it had. Geralt finished with the bandages quickly enough, this time allowing for no protests as he pushed the bard down, onto the bed, “rest, Jaskier. And don’t move that hand.” He paused, “and no more bar fights.”

Jaskier bounced back onto the bed with a huff, “I make no promises.”

Geralt grunted in reply, not thrilled but also unsurprised by the response. He moved to tidy away the rest of his medical supplies when Jaskier caught hold of him with his good hand. “lay with me?”

He had no chance of hiding the smile tugging at the corner of his lips at hearing the question. Careful, so as not to disturb Jaskier’s hand any further, Geralt lay down beside Jaskier, smile creeping larger when the bard shifted to press himself against Geralt. He turned, tucking his chin down to see the bard staring back at him.

Lying there, Geralt found himself thinking that he simply didn’t know how he was supposed to care about what the tiny backwater villagers thought of him, what they called him, when it was clear, to the one person who mattered, he was not a monster. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading


End file.
